


Dancing On My Own

by iwritewhenimhappy



Series: I'll Be Good [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, Dreams and Nightmares, Emissary Alan Deaton, Emissary in Training Stiles Stilinski, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mates, Mental Health Issues, Mercy Killing, Pack, Pack Dynamics, Panic Attacks, Past Suicide Attempt, Past Trauma(s), Slow Build, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 04:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18865285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwritewhenimhappy/pseuds/iwritewhenimhappy
Summary: “Why are you here?”Peter looks up sharply but evades the answer and instead he tells him, “You’re move.”“You’re the pack’s left hand.” Stiles says as he makes his move on the chessboard. “I’m not stupid. I know what everyone thinks but I know about Pack dynamics. I know about the roles and I know yours.”“And I know yours. I don’t know why anyone would doubt your intelligence, it’s obvious that you’re the smartest one in the room.” Peter tells him. “If you want to know if I understand than I do. I’m probably the only one that does, but sometimes we have to take care of things most would find… Unsettling.”Stiles looks up with a new found feeling he’s never had before. Acceptance. “When I met you- what almost a year ago? I knew you would- that you did.”





	Dancing On My Own

**Author's Note:**

> This is not an easy read, it does contain dark topics, and if you're not prepared for that then this story might not be for you.  
> To all of the people who commented on the previous story, 'To Build A Home,' thank you. You're comments kept me writing, and this is for you.  
> There have been some questions about the nature of certain events, but I would like to remind you that this is from Stiles' point of view. It's how he views things, which does effect how the story may come off/perceived.

_Stiles walks over and leans. He comes closer and closer to his father until they’re face to face. His eyes are closed and his breathing is steady. The machines helping him to take each new breath beeps occasionally just as his heart monitor does. He has electrodes all over his chest and body. He no longer wears the Sheriff’s uniform that has become like a second skin to him, instead he’s stripped down into a flimsy hospital gown leaving easy access to the central line and other veins for constant blood draws and tests. For medications too that were working before he came here._

_Stiles doesn’t say anything, he only reaches out and touches the side of his dad’s head. A gentle, firm touch as he uses his other hand to flip the switch on the machine. His father’s chest almost immediately stops rising and falling so easily. Instead it stutters and each breath is shuttered. Stiles feels tears as he feels the pain it takes for each breath to get out, and the pain his father has felt since he collapsed. His body on fire._

_“It’s okay, dad.” Stiles promises as he takes the extra pillow on his side and pulls it out from under his arm. He holds it in his hand gently for a moment before gripping it tightly. He grits his teeth then pushes the pillow into his father’s face. He holds it there with a new found strength he never knew he had. His father struggles at first but it’s a physical reaction, his soul, his self feels nothing but a quiet relief._

_It doesn’t take long before the heart monitor flat lines. Stiles carefully takes the pillow away from his father’s face and places it back under his arm. He watches as his eyes go limp, dead, and it’s not like his mom at all._

_The grief engulfs him. So much so that he can’t help but let out, shakily, “Daddy?”_

“Ahh!” His words are muffled but the scream, the terror and pain that they accompany are very real as Stiles sits up. He frantically searches around for his lamp and switches it on. He looks around in fear but sees nothing. There’s no one here but him and that dream- that dream, it was a dream.

 It was just a dream.

><><><>< 

“Is it true?” Scott asks, his voice dripping in desperation. “Did you do it?”

 Stiles nods his head and takes a step back, then another as he makes his way into the kitchen. He takes out a mug and pours himself a cup of coffee. He wishes that he could have something stronger but Scott and Melissa already cleaned all of that out a few months prior when he admitted the truth. They were trying to help, to make it easier but right now, he needs it. He needs something. Something more than just coffee.

“Well you’re going to have to be a little more specific, Scotty. If this is about the burnt toast I left you the other day well what can I say? The toaster wasn’t cooperating. If it’s about the extra Tylenol I swiped from you, well, one doesn’t cut it.” Stiles says with a tone of sarcasm Scott hasn’t heard in forever.

“You know what I’m talking about. Did you do it? Did you kill your dad?”

 Stiles is facing away from him now, toward the cupboards and where his coffee sits. He already added his milk and sugar so now he’s simply stirring it but at the mention of his father he stops. There’s a moment, a flash of pain that’s gone as soon as it comes. He clicks the spoon across the side of the cup to keep it from dripping then throws it into the sink that’s been rapidly filling up. Stiles then turns, cup in hand as he meets his friends fear and worry filled eyes.

“Well?” Scott tries again.

Stiles takes a long sip. “Yeah.”

 Scott’s face is devastated. He’s crestfallen as he tries to hear a lie in Stiles’ heartbeat but finds that there is none which means it is true. Stiles isn’t lying, and Derek didn’t misinterpret. Scott takes a deep, steadying breath before asking, “How- How did you do it?”

 Stiles chuckles bitterly. “Does it matter?”

“Yeah, it does. I know he was- I know he was dying but-”

“I killed him.” Stiles interrupts, not wanting to hear any more about this. It’s one thing to think it, to go over it in his head but it’s a whole other to hear it out loud. “There’s nothing else to say.”

“Why would you… You killed someone. You killed your own father. How can you come back from that?” Scott’s voice is disgusted and hurt all wrapped into one, but Stiles makes no apologies.

“Maybe I don’t want to.” Is his cryptic reply.

“Stiles you can’t just play God like that. You killed-”

“I know! I know what I did, okay? You don’t have to keep saying it. I know what I did. I know.”

“I can’t believe I gave you another chance.” Scott says with a shake of his head as he looks away. “I’m not going to tell anyone, but that’s only because you’re pack and that’s not how we deal with things.”

 Stiles can sense that Scott has more to say but he’s already heard enough. An anger, a fury boils to the surface and before he knows it he’s thrown his coffee filled mug at the opposite wall. It shatters on impact and pieces go flying everywhere, the coffee landing sporadically around the room as well. Stiles doesn’t wait for Scott to react.

“You give me another chance!? I am the one who gave you another chance. You left me! ME! Scott. How dare you point your finger at me? Some of us are human! Some of us make mistakes!”

 Scott nods his head. “So you admit it. It was a mistake.”

 Stiles feels the anger burn ten times hotter than it did a few minutes ago. If Scott were human he would beat him to a pulp, but as it stands he’s not, and Stiles would be the one beaten to a pulp if he made a move. This simple fact makes him all the angrier. He hates being stuck in a corner, stuck like a wall unable to do what he wants, what should be his right to do.

“Go Scott.” Stiles ends up saying. “And don’t come back. As far as I’m concerned you’re nothing to me.”

“Yeah, well, the Stiles I knew wouldn’t have done any of this.” Is Scott’s reply as he storms out of Stiles’ house. And God! Scott’s always seen the world in black and white but when did he get so high and mighty? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

 Stiles bangs his hand onto the counter and yelps in pain. Blood runs down his arm as he uncurls his fist and sees the shard of mug embedded in his skin. It’s a large enough piece and Stiles’ immediate reaction is to pull it out, but he stops himself. Instead he squeezes his hand into a fist and yelps again in pain as more blood weeps from the wound. It hurts but he finds that his hurt from within isn’t so bad when squeezes.

><><><>< 

“Well, well, well, who is this, Stiles?” Peter asks with a creepy leer.

“Davis.” Stiles says without much feeling as he looks down at the crossbreed. He’s most defiantly part German Shepard, but as for what else? Well he’s not sure.

“Nice to meet you Davis.” Peter says kneeling down to face the dog. He holds out his hand but the dog simply ignores him, but then with a sterner look and no doubt some wolfy thing the dog whines and holds out his paw. Peter shakes it and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Not fair.” Stiles says. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

 Peter stands and faces the young man with another smile, almost genuine this time. “My nephew is being a little judgemental and you’re pack.”

“I don’t even know what that means.” Stiles admits as he looks down. These wolves always throw around the word pack but he’s not pack. He’s not anything. Besides its pretty obvious Derek has washed his hands of him, not that there was anything really going on between them, except this mate business. He sort of had this doubt that it wasn’t really all the wolves made it out to be anyway.

“You should.”

“Well, I don’t, Peter so can you go please? Derek and Scott have made it pretty clear that they’ve- that they don’t want anything to do with me.”

 Peter looks at him with sympathy, maybe even shame but Peter Hale doesn’t do shame. Stiles has learned that from Derek but then again Derek isn’t here. “Invite me in?”

 Stiles wants to say no but something inside him says, “Sure.” Peter may be a little on the edge or perhaps really and truly crazy but he killed his father. Who is Stiles to judge?

 Stiles takes a step back and Peter steps in.

><><><>< 

“Do you play?” Peter asks as he walks over to the chess board. His hands move over it, wiping a layer of dust off.

“Yeah, I mean I used to when my mom- with my mom.” His voice breaks slightly at the mention of his mom but he’s quick to push those emotions away. They’re sitting in the living room, Stiles on one couch with Davis’ head in his lap, and Peter on the other side of the room looking at the board that’s on the top shelf of the TV stand. It’s pushed back out of sight but still visible if you’re looking for it.

“Shall we?”

“Why not?”

 Peter takes the board and sets in down on the coffee table. He picks up a chair from nearby and pulls it over. He sits across from Stiles and sets the board up. “Black or white?” He asks.

“Black.” Stiles says.

 Peter smirks.

“What?” Stiles asks noticing the look.

“Nothing, my dear boy, nothing at all.” Is Peter’s slightly disturbing response.

“Does Derek know you’re here?” Stiles asks carefully after he plays his first move.

“He knows I’m not at the pack house.”

“Why are you here?”

 Peter looks up sharply but evades the answer and instead he tells him, “You’re move.”

“You’re the pack’s left hand.” Stiles says as he makes his move. “I’m not stupid. I know what everyone thinks but I know about Pack dynamics. I know about the roles and I know yours.”

“And I know yours. I don’t know why anyone would doubt your intelligence, it’s obvious that you’re the smartest one in the room.” Peter tells him. “If you want to know if I understand than I do. I’m probably the only one that does, but sometimes we have to take care of things most would find… Unsettling.”

 Stiles looks up with a new found feeling he’s never had before. Acceptance. “When I met you- what almost a year ago? I knew you would- that you did.”

“You feel things differently than most people, correct?”

“Yeah.” Stiles breathes out in surprise. “How did you…?”

 Peter smiles. “I can help you, Stiles, if you ask for my help that is.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think it’s time for you to meet Dr. Deaton.”

“The vet?” Stiles asks in surprise as he makes another move on the chessboard. “The guy Scott works for?”

“Check mate.” Peter says with a smirk. Stiles looks down surprised. He didn’t even see it coming.

“Shit.” Stiles says before looking up. “You’re good.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps you’re simply rusty. As for Deaton he’s not simply a Veterinarian. He’s an Emissary. Our pack’s Emissary to be more precise. Usually he has an apprentice but ever since the fire and the other death’s, apprentices- Emissaries for that matter have been far and few between.”

“Other deaths?” Stiles asks in surprise, then with more curiosity than surprise, “What other deaths?”

><><><>< 

“Have you ever heard of that song about God by Metallica?” Stiles asks, his words a little slurred as he stares up at the ceiling fan going around and around.

“Sounds familiar.” Is Peter’s response as he takes a seat across from him. Peter bought the beer for him so that it would work its magic on Stiles, so that he could forget and feel something else. Peter’s heard from humans that it does wonders. He wishes he could but the only wolf alcoholic drinks Talia allows is none. He could get some himself but that requires a trip out of town and that takes far too long. He can’t leave Stiles alone right now. He might be dead when he returned, if he did go that is.

“Well, it’s pretty stupid! But it makes sense and yet there isn’t even a God, is there?” Stiles chuckles and Peter almost smiles. “Only Godsssss and Goddessessssss.”

“That’s who Emissaries pray to.” Peter supplies before adding, “But no one really ever knows until they’ve died.”

“I’ve died.”

 Peter’s body stills. “Have you now?”

“Yyeah.” Stiles answers with furrowed eyebrows. He’s silent for a moment before with much effort due to the alcohol slowing his reflexes, sits up. He turns his body to face Peter’s. “I was s-seventeen. I took all those pills and… I should be dead.”

“But you’re not, are you?” Peter says curiously as his eyes roam for the boy, suddenly more intrigued. “I wonder why.”

“Who cares? It j- just fucking sucks. I couldn’t kill myself, but my dad? Peanuts.”

 Stiles’ laugh is hollow and bitter as he lifts his beer up in a mock salute and drowns down the rest of it. He pushes it down and burps. Peter chuckles as Stiles’ face pinches at the aftertaste. “I always hated beer but it’s not so- so bad, is it? Ha. I killed someone. I’m a murderer!”

 Stiles laughs and Peter smirks. “Well, so am I, dear boy.”

Stiles stops laugh and looks closely at Peter. “Right, l- left hand and alllll thattt.”

“I think it’s time for you to get some sleep, Stiles.”

“Yeah, yeah I’ll just rest my eyes though for a bit. That’s- That’s…” He trails off as his back hits the couch again and his legs curl up underneath him. It’s a fetal position and it suddenly makes sense to Peter as to why he survived, but Peter doesn’t say anything. He simply smiles to himself and reaches for the blanket laid on the back of the couch. He pulls it over the young Spark and leaves, for now. He’ll be back.

><><><>< 

“How are you feeling?” Peter says with a sickly sweet smile the next morning when he walks into the kitchen. Stiles sits at the kitchen table with his head in his hands and a cup of coffee near him. At hearing Peter’s words he groans in both annoyance and in an answer. It makes Peter smirk as he takes a seat across from him. “So, dear boy, have you decided?”

 At Peter’s question Stiles raises his head to glare at him. “Have I decided? I just learned yesterday that not only is Derek responsible for the deaths of his family but also for all these other- witches or whatever.”

“He was not responsible.” Peter says slowly and deliberately.

 Stiles looks up again and sweats, literally. “Sorry, I know, that’s not- It’s not what I meant. I meant that- It’s a lot to take in, I mean, me? Sickly pale Stiles as an Emissary?”

“You’re not one yet. You’re simply a young man with a Spark, but with the proper training and learning you could be. Should be.”

“I don’t believe in all that destiny crap. We make our own choices.”

 Peter stares at him curiously. “Most humans don’t. Not since the fifties.”

“You act like you were there.” Stiles says to him curiously as he thinks about all of the history lessons to that time that they had to go through in school. It was the beginning of the big reveal, but it didn’t become acknowledged generally until the sixties and seventies. Since then people have adapted and life has become relatively normal. The ‘truth’ isn’t really the ‘truth’ anymore but the way of life.

 Peter smirks and answers simply with, “Maybe I’m older than I look. Perhaps you are too… So, is that a yes?”

 Stiles looks down and sighs. “It’s a maybe.”

><><><>< 

“So how does this work?” Stiles asks Dr. Deaton with a curious furrow of his brow. They’re in his office, and the metal tables and smell of anti-septic is starting to get to him. He knows this is a vet’s clinical, dealing with animals is all it is but it smells like a hospital and that brings alive too many memories that Stiles doesn’t want in his head, even though they’re trapped there forever.

“We will start out small.” Deaton says with his smooth voice that is all and ever knowing. “With research.”

 Deaton turns around and grabs three books from a stack. He places them in Stiles arms and takes a step back. “This is a brief history of our legacies and kind.”

“A brief history?” Stiles says in shock. “These books are like a thousand pages each!”

“I never said this would be easy.”

 Stiles glares but relents. What else is he going to do anyway? High school projects and studying for those classes only takes up so much time before he’s pulling his hair out of his head. He needs distractions, he needs something and maybe this is. But these books? They must be super old. ‘An Emissary’s Place in the Pack.’ ‘Sparks; A history.” Oh, and his personal favourite out of the pile so far, and the last one, ‘Beliefs and Customs of the Spiritual’s Emissary.’ They’re all in English which actually surprises Stiles and makes him look up with a questioning glace.

“These are translated, earlier copies, the originals are in ancient languages. That’s a lesson for a later date.” Deaton explains without Stiles even having to ask which in itself is a little scary but he feels more curious about it than scared if he’s being completely honest with himself.

“How- How long does it take to be- to be like you?” Stiles questions.

 Deaton smiles. “An Emissary is a life long journey, Stiles, but to be able to stand on your own two feet anywhere from ten to thirty years.”

 Stiles face loses all of its colour. “Thir- Thirty years?”

“I know it seems like a lot, but I wouldn’t be telling you this if I didn’t think you could handle it. But let me make this clear, everything you do from now on must be chosen- decided from within.”

“Thanks Yoda.”

 Deaton chuckles. “It’s called intuition, or at least that’s one name for it. It’s the voice at the back of your head and the feelings that you’re not alone when you are. The feeling that comes from within when you’re choosing what to do, the good and the bad. As a Spark you feel this more intensely than most and you must follow it more intensely.”

“Okay.” Stiles says after a few moments of contemplation. He knows that he’s not going to do this forever though, let alone thirty years. He’s not even going to be alive by next spring. He’ll do this because it sounds interesting as a good distraction and maybe it will give him some answers to why he is the way he is, not completely a person that is, but that’s it. He made a promise to graduate, but after that? He can finally find peace in the edge of a blade and the nothingness that death offers.

 He’d rather feel nothing than this.

><><><>< 

 Stiles likes rainy days the most. They don’t happen often in Beacon Hills, only a few dozen times a year, half in the Fall and half in the Spring, right now, today is one. The rain falls quickly at first thing this morning at around four or five which was what woke Stiles up. He stayed up late last night so it was annoying but at the same time it was nice. He got up and made coffee. He sat in the big armchair in the living room and watched through the window as the rain slowed to a dull shower. It feels like has all the time in the world.

 Not everything is so relaxing though, because there’s something lodged in his stomach. Stiles isn’t sure at first if it’s physical illness, mental, or a spiritual upset. All he knows is that something is fundamentally wrong. Something is not right. He feels like the world could fall on him today and he hates it. He changes into new clothes and hopes that will help, and it does, but only a little. He tries to read a book or to watch some videos to take his mind off of it but it’s still there. This uncomfortable pressure.

“Hello?” Peter answers on the eighth ring. “This better be important.”

“Hi, uh, Peter? You said I could call if…” Stiles starts off by saying almost nervously.

“Stiles, what can I do for you?”

“Something feels wrong, like really, really wrong. Is everyone okay at the pack house?”

 Peter’s tone and energy suddenly changes to serious. “When I left this morning it was. I’m turning around. What exactly is wrong?”

“I- I don’t know. I just, I woke up with this pressure on my chest, like something is fundamentally wrong. It feels _wrong_.”

“Do you feel anxious at all?”

“No, I mean, not really.” Stiles admits. “It’s more like I’m missing something or I need to be somewhere. Something is missing, isn’t right.”

 Peter lets out a sigh of relief. “And here I thought something terrible had happened.”

“Are you- Are you making fun of me?”

“No, but I am relieved. What you’re describing is mate separation. It usually only happens when mates are bonded or have accepted their mate.”

“Great. How do I make it go away?” Stiles asks quickly, not wanting to think about what that really means.

“There is only one way I’m afraid, you have to spend time with my dear nephew.” Peter tells him honestly.

 Stiles pauses. “He hates me.”

“That’s not true. He’s simply being righteous and stubborn. Not as much as the McCall kid but still.”

“Scott? You’re talking about Scott? What is he saying?”

“Listen, Stiles, if it helps we feel things tenfold to what you feel- or well normal humans so if you’re feeling this, Derek’s feeling it worse.”

“Thanks but that makes me feel worse.” Stiles says with a sigh and some guilt.

“If he feels awful enough maybe he’ll suck up his pride and come see you.” Peter says almost smugly.

“Right. You know, Deaton told me that mates accept every part of each other. I’m starting to think that maybe he’s wrong.”

“He’s not.” Peter says with more emotion than Stiles has ever heard him have. “I have to go.”

 The call ends abruptly.

><><><>< 

 He feels like he’s choking on air. He curls his hands into fists around chunks of hair as his head leans over into his chest. His knees his chin and his chest rattles. The pressure is overwhelming and he hates it. He hates it and he hates this stupid mate bond. He hates the whole goddamn world while he’s at it. Peter said this wouldn’t kill him that he would only wish that he was dead which is ironic because he already does, but he can’t die yet. He made a promise.

 Stiles picks up himself up off of the bedroom floor and stands shakily. He takes long steps to his dresser and opens it. He finishes around in his sock and underwear drawer until he finds it. The blade is smooth and black, and he smiles. He takes into his palm and squeezes. His head raises as his chest expands. He breathes in that sweet air, no longer choking on it. The pain in his hand overwhelms the other pain, and the rain- oh the rain is so sweet. He can hear it pouring outside and he loves it.

 Stiles finally opens his eyes, not even realizing that he closed them, and smiles. Maybe he can actually get some sleep tonight. He looks down at that thought and watches as the blood drips. He curls his hand and holds it close to him as the deep ache expands. He has carpet in his room, he should be more careful.

><><><>< 

_“Please, please don’t.” Stiles pleads in a hoarse whisper as his mom comes closer. “I don’t- I don’t want it.”_

_“Of course you do, sweetie, come here.” She brings him into her chest, hugging him painfully tight. He feels trapped, enclosed, and scared. He tries to shrug her off but her grip is so tight that it doesn’t work. He starts pushing, then clawing as his desperation to get away increases tenfold._

_“Mo- mom no! Let me go! Let me…” He doesn’t get to finish as a blinding light comes from somewhere behind her. It comes closer and closer and- “Mom no!”_

_“Stiles, honey, I love you.”_

“Mom!” Stiles wakes with a start as the fear and adrenaline encompass every molecule in him. He thrashes his hands around and tries to find the lamp. He needs the dark to go away, he needs to be able to see that she’s not here, and that he’s alone.

“Stiles, Stiles, it’s okay. Hey, it’s okay.” A voice he doesn’t know, a voice that could be anyone’s, could be _its’_.

“No- no.”

“Shh, sweetheart, I’m right here.”

 A gentle hand runs alongside his forehead, pushing back sweaty tendrils of hair while at the same time leaving a calming presence. He feels less panicked as the stranger cups his cheek and gently caresses with his thumb. Another hand pulls the covers over him and tucks him in like a child. He feels like a child, young, unsure, and co-dependent on anyone who offers the slightest bit of concern. He feels so vulnerable and usually that would scare him, make him want to run, but this man, he’s different. He feels calmer than he ever has. He…

“Stay.” Stiles whispers, not even realizing that he said it out loud.

 The man’s hand stills than starts touching him ever so gently again, pushing his hair back in a soothing motion. Stiles doesn’t need to hear his voice to know the answer, he can feel it, and it’s more than enough to let the lull of sleepiness pull him back under.

><><><>< 

 Stiles has the sudden urge to say ‘hello,’ when he wakes up the next morning but he quickly squashes that urge as it’s ridiculous and pointless. He has a security alarm thanks to Sherriff dad, and Davis would have barked if some random stranger came into the house, into his room no less. So what is it? He must have been dreaming, that’s how he answers that mystery but when he looks down to the end of his bed he sees Davis laying on top of a black leather jacket. A black leather jacket that is all too familiar.

“Where did you get that, boy?” Stiles asks with a raise of his eyebrow.

Davis leans his chin down as if to say, ‘I don’t know. Wasn’t me.’

 Stiles can’t help but shake his head as he lets a small laugh escape. He reaches over to pet Davis when he notices the white bandage wrapped tightly around his hand where he cut it only yesterday. He didn’t put that there.

><><><>< 

“So what is the big emergency?” Peter says in exasperation and his usual charming self.

“Here.” Stiles says getting straight to the point as he throws the leather jacket at the wolf. “You left this here last night.”

 Peter raises an eyebrow as he looks the jacket over. “Nope, sorry, not mine.” He says before throwing it back to Stiles.

“Riiiight. Well, I don’t want it.”

“Read my lips. It’s. Not. Mine.” Peter says with a little growl at the end to empathise his point. He then makes his way into the kitchen and starts looking through Stiles’ fridge. He picks out a cup of yogurt half open and wrinkles his nose. The only other things in there is a jar of one pickle, half a thing of cheese that’s turning blue, and one apple. It’s pretty pathetic, and it’s not until Peter Hale of all people starts looking inside that Stiles realizes that yeah, maybe he should go grocery shopping.

“Davis was laying on it this morning and the only person he’s met other than me is you. He wasn’t even phased, it must be yours.” Stiles explains while holding up the jacket.

“He was, was he?” Peter questions with a curious expression.

“Yes, so case is closed.”

 Peter laughs. “I’m sorry, but I think you have me confused with the other wolf, the one that’s in love with you.”

 Stiles almost punches him, instead he holds the anger in and instead says through gritted teeth, “I knew introducing you to Supernatural would be a bad idea.”

“Whatever. My point, it’s your mate’s.”

“He was here?”

“Was he?” Peter says back, clearly having fun with this.

“Knock it off. Was he here or not? I know you can smell him, or you know, not smell him.”

“If you paid a little more attention to your studies and grocery shopping than drinking coffee and moping around you would be able to sense his presence or not sense his presence as you so elegantly put it.”

“Yeah? Well I have been studying and funny thing I learned… Mountain ash I believe it’s called, is… Apparently if, I don’t know, say an Emissary or Spark were to put it in a circle, let’s say around a house, well, no wolf would be able to cross it.” Stiles says with a smirk.

“Touché.” Peter says admitting an impasse, not a defeat, merely an impasse. “He was here. By the amount of drool he left on your bed I’m guess you had two dogs in your bed last night.”

 Stiles narrows his eyes. “Two words Peter; Mountain. Ash.”

><><><>< 

 Stiles takes a deep breath, his hand clutches at the jacket’s leathery material with nervous energy. He’s right outside the publishing firm that Derek works at. It’s in Acon, the larger city that resides an hour and a half away from Beacon Hills. He started driving right after school but he didn’t make it here until five and he is starving. Food hasn’t really been that much of a thought in his mind but now that he’s here he could eat a horse. He better pick something up on his way out, after he does what he came here for. He grits his teeth in anger at what that is, well mostly at Peter who is a dick. He wouldn’t take the jacket back to Derek and there was no way that Stiles could face going to the pack house. The way Scott spoke and based on what Peter’s said, everyone knows. Every wolf that is. Which makes him even angrier on a whole different level.

“Hello, welcome to Edison Publishing House, how can I help you?” The nice lady receptionist asks as Stiles puts away his anger and focuses on getting through this without another panic attack.

“Hi- uh, I’m- Is Derek Hale here?” Stiles asks nervously.

 She smiles kindly. “He is, do you have an appointment?”

“No, I just- I wanted to give this back to him.” Stiles hands the leather jacket out and the lady grins in a pitiful smile that still screams, ‘nice.’

“I’m sorry, but unless this is business related I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

‘Bitch,’ is Stiles first thought and he opens his mouth ready to argue. He’s always hated people like this. The kinds of people who dish it behind pretty smiles and a false sense of concern, but secretly are evil incarnate, then when you go to confront them they have no idea what you’re talking about.

“It’s okay, Bree, I know him.” Derek says as he walks seemingly out of nowhere, but then again Stiles wasn’t paying attention, all of his focus on the demon in front of him. “Come into my office.”

 Derek turns and Stiles wants to stop him, to just give him the jacket but that- Bree looks furious, so it’s worth it to simply follow him and let her stew. Take that, he thinks as he walks into Derek’s office. Derek closes the door behind him and Stiles can’t help but look all around the small but modest office space. It’s all still very new but greys and whites are the main colours, something that Stiles wasn’t expecting. With Derek’s dark car and dark clothing choices he expected more dark greys and blacks in his workspace.

“Do you like it?” Derek asks somewhat awkwardly.

“Yeah sure, it’s very modern?” Stiles says with a nod of his head as he takes in the family photo standing up on Derek’s desk. He moves his eyes from the Hale’s smiling faces and to Derek’s stern one, but it’s not stern now, he’s smirking slightly. Stiles is about ask what it is when he remembers himself. “Look, I’m here because of this.”

 Stiles hands the jacket up and over to Derek. Derek looks from the jacket to Stiles but makes no move to take the offending object. Stiles huffs internally and then turns, placing the jacket on an empty chair. “Okay, bye.”

“Wait.” Derek says standing up from behind his desk. Stiles feels a tug within that he hasn’t felt in a long time. It almost takes his breath away, and it’s enough for him to pause.

“What?” Stiles asks, still turned away from Derek.

“Stiles, I…”

 Stiles turns around, suddenly angry. “Don’t strain yourself. I got the message when you decided not to talk to me for two whole months.”

 Derek’s eyes turn downward in pain. “I was- I’m trying to understand.”

“You don’t have to.” Stiles says as tears make their way in his eyes as the anger fades and the hurt that’s always been there comes to the surface. “I- It’s okay, but why did you have to tell Scott? He- he hates me.”

 Derek looks up sharply with a curious tilt of his head. “I didn’t tell him anything. I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Then how does he know?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.” Stiles says, but there’s not much heat behind it. He knows Derek is telling the truth. “Wait, Peter knows and I sure as hell didn’t tell him, so you must have told him and he-”

“I didn’t tell Peter. Wait, Peter? We haven’t seen him in months.”

 Now Stiles is more confused than ever. “But- But he took me to Deaton’s, to- to train me.”

“Train you?” Derek asks with more concern and curiosity than before.

“As an Emissary.” Stiles says slowly.

 A lightbulb goes off in Derek’s eyes. “Come on.” He says as he walks around his desk, grabbing the jacket and putting it on.

“Where are we going?” Stiles asks as he follows Derek out of his office.

“To see Deaton.”

><><><>< 

“So you told Scott and Peter?” Stiles asks with clarity beginning to form. He and Derek are in the Vet’s office, both a little ticked at this new revelation. “How did you even know?”

 Deaton looks down, than up. “I sensed it. As an Emissary-”

“Bullshit.” Stiles says making both Derek and Deaton blink in surprise. “You’re lying.”

“Stiles, I’m not-”

“You’re lying!” Stiles voice raises as he takes a step toward the Vet. “Tell me the truth!”

 A glass jar shatters, making all three flinch. Glass shards go flying everywhere as Derek pulls Stiles away and shields him from the onset. Stiles pulls away from Derek’s grip and looks at the mess. With eyes wide he looks to Deaton. “Did I do that?”

 Deaton starts to say something no doubt comforting but Stiles is already out of there. The panic in his lungs filling up and taking over.

><><><>< 

“Stiles! Stiles! It’s okay, it’s going to be alright.” Derek says quickly as he comes as close as he can to him without touching him. They’re outside of the Vet’s, Stiles with his back to the building, his head bent over as he breathes heavy.

“I can’t- I can’t.” Stiles tries to say through ragged breaths.

“What do you need? What can I do?”

“Just- Just-” Stiles can’t get it out. His vision is swimming and all he can thinks of is trying to breathe, of the panic overriding him. He doesn’t know why he does it but he reaches out and he grabs Derek, he finds his hand and he holds on. The memory of that comforting touch from the other night fresh in his mind. The calming and soothing presence he- Derek brought. He hangs on for dear life, and at first it brings on a fresh wave of panic but then there’s moment. It’s like the ocean washing over him, but it’s Derek and his presence, his comfort. He feels that tug, he feels his soul touch another and there no panic in this other one. There’s only concern and the distinct emotion called _love_.

 Stiles looks up. He’s both surprised and amazed. That feeling of love is warm and nice, and it covers, brings all of him into a cocoon of safety. He’s no longer panicking, his breathing is evening out, and his hands aren’t shaking. Derek’s clear eyes stare back at his with concern and slight relief as he sees that Stiles is no longer panicking like he was a few moments ago.

“Did you feel that?” Stiles can’t help but asking.

“Feel what?” Derek asks curiously.

“Nothing. Never mind.” Stiles stands up slowly and that’s when he realizes he’s still holding Derek’s hand. He withdraws from the touch quickly but that panic comes back as soon as he does. Not at full force like before but more like a dull ache at the back of his head. It’s there but it’s manageable. He’ll manage it. He’s okay.

“Stiles, it’s okay. Deaton can help you control this and figure it out.” Derek tells him seriously.

 Stiles looks up sharply. “I don’t want anything to do with him.”

Derek looks taken back. “This isn’t his fault.”

 Stiles huffs in annoyance. “Whatever. I’m going home.”

“Stiles wait.”

“What!?” Stiles asks as he turns around. “Just because- look this doesn’t change anything. You left. You left me. You were supposed to be my friend Derek.”

 The hurt leaks into his words and Derek flinches back like he’s been burned. ‘Friend’ isn’t really the right way to put it but it’s all Stiles can come up with. There’s not enough vocabulary in the English language to explain their relationship, and mates? He doesn’t really think that fits either right now. Besides he doesn’t even understand what being a mate really is about. He thought he did know, or at the very least was getting a handle on it but then Derek backed away. Literally. Wolves put mates on such a high pedestal but it turns out they’re just like the rest of them; capable of only conditional friendship, family, and love.

“I- I thought I could trust you. I thought you would understand.” Stiles admits weakly even though he’s not really sure of himself or his words anymore.

“I- I’m trying to, Stiles, but what you did… As wolves we value the sanctity of life above all else. We understand that there is a cycle, but you don’t get to determine when each phase of the cycle is. We take care of our own, Stiles, and we would have taken care of your father. You didn’t have to- do what you did.”

“You think I- Because I didn’t want to take care of him?” Angry tears start to fall and Stiles doesn’t even try to wipe them away. “I did what I did because he was suffering. He didn’t deserve a life hooked up to machines- to endless tests and treatments that wouldn’t have made a damn difference! HE DESERVED TO BE FREE! JUST LIKE I DID!”

“What?” Derek asks confused. “What do you mean, ‘just like I did’?

 Stiles recoils. “Nothing, nothing, I have to go.”

“Stiles wait.”

 But Stiles is already in his car, slamming the door shut before Derek can stop him again.

><><><>< 

“Come on, come on.” Stiles whispers to himself as he stares intently at the glass. It’s a simple glass from his cupboard and he’s set it on the coffee table in the living room. He sits in front of it on the couch, his hands clenched together in concentration. “I am the force. I will use the force. I will become the force.”

“And what may I ask are you doing?” Peter says from right behind him, mouth inches away from his ear. Stiles flinches and stands up with a startled yelp. A very manly startled yelp.

“What the hell, Peter?” He asks in irritation and a little bit of embarrassment.

“I believe I asked you that question first.”

“I’m- you know, honing in on my Spark powers or something… Anyway I’m not the one breaking into people’s houses. How did you get in here?”

“I used a key.” Peter says simply. “Now, what is this I hear about you ignoring Deaton?”

“Okay, hold on, first of all, what key? Second, how do you even know about that? Oh, wait, I know, it’s because you two are butt buddies, right?”

 Peter rolls his eyes before saying more seriously, “He’s the one who can help you find the force, if that’s what you want to call it.”

“No, I’m done with him. I’ll do it myself.”

 Peter’s lips curl, first into a smile than just as abruptly into a snarl. “You will go back to Dr. Deaton and you will learn.”

 Stiles takes a step back as he laughs nervously. “Remember that mountain ash, Peter?”

“I don’t care. YOU WILL GO BACK.”

 The glass bursts and shatters. Stiles flinches and steps away, stumbling into the other couch. “What the hell? Was that me?” Stiles looks to Peter whose face has returned to normal and his demeanour is once again calm.

“Of course, who else could it be? See? You need to go back to Deaton’s. Understand?”

 Stiles nods, too freaked out to do anything else. Peter nods and smiles at that before making his way out of the Stilinski household. The glass that shattered is in pieces everywhere and Stiles still hasn’t been able to close his mouth from shock.

 There’s no way that was him.

><><><>< 

_“Where is he, Stiles?” Derek asks from his right._

_Stiles looks to him and says carefully, “We might not be able to save him.”_

_“Where is he?” Derek asks again, only with more force this time._

_“It’s the tree, Derek.”_

_Derek runs on ahead and Stiles lets his head fall ever so slightly for a moment before he starts running after him. They’re in the forest surrounding Beacon Hills, there’s acres upon acres of it, and the one they seek is cloaked in mystical energies, but Stiles is Stiles and he found it. When he finds Derek though when he’s caught up with him he knows that it’s too late._

_“Deaton… No…” Derek whispers brokenly as he looks down at the bloodied figure of the once powerful Emissary. His breath is almost gone, it’s only a matter of mere moments. No one expects him to wake up, to open his eyes, and yet…_

_“Stiles.” He croaks out. Stiles looks at him with surprise. His eyes then meet Derek’s, Scott’s, and then even young Isaac’s. “Stiles.”_

_Stiles leans over and comes close. His ear finds its way a few inches to Deaton’s lips. He’s not a wolf, he needs to be physically close to hear him. He’s not disappointed by the effort, because just as he leans down, Deaton whispers his last words on earth._

_“Don’t save him.”_

_Stiles leans back in confusion. “Who?” He questions._

_But Deaton doesn’t answer, his eyes close, and he is gone._

_“Deaton!?”_

“Fuck!” Stiles swears as he opens his eyes to the blaring of his alarm clock. The red letters says quarter to nine and damn he’s going to be late. His alarm is supposed to go off quarter after eight, not quarter to nine. Stiles flips the stupid piece of garbage over and hits the alarm button only to find the same time he always sets it, which means he must have slept through the blaring for half an hour. He’s never done that before.

 Wait. Deaton. He was dreaming about Deaton and a forest. He was dying and he said not save somebody. Scott was there too and that newly bitten wolf, Isaac. Why the hell would he be dreaming about Isaac? He’s only met him like once. At least that Erica wasn’t in there. She’s a real fire pistol. Boyd on the other hand, probably would have been okay. Wait, shit he’s going to be late, and he still needs to call Derek about Peter.

 It’s going to be a long day.

><><><>< 

“Somethings wrong with Peter.” Stiles says quickly and efficiently, like ripping off a bandage.

“Is- That’s why you’re calling?” Derek asks through the line, a clear hint of disappointment.

“Yeah, I mean, why else would I be calling? You know what? Don’t answer that. Just- Just talk to your uncle, you’ll know what I mean.”

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t? You pick up the phone and you call him.” Stiles says with a clear annoyance. He doesn’t want to talk to Derek any longer than need be. The other day was a fluke, and yeah maybe he does feel better. Maybe the constant pressure on his chest has finally dissolved but that doesn’t mean anything. Mate bonds bullshit aside, Derek’s an ass, and he’s not even going to be alive in a few months, so what does it matter?

“I’ve called him a dozen times. We all have. He’s not answering.” Derek says in frustration, then with something akin to jealousy, “Apparently the only one he’ll talk to is you.”

“Make him listen. I don’t have time to be dealing with broken glasses and angry wolf eyes. I have tests, final examinations to study. I need to graduate, Derek, I don’t have time to deal with wolves.”

“You’re right.”

“I am?”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’ll take care of it.” Derek tells him before abruptly hanging up.

“Thank you?” Stiles says into the empty air.

><><><>< 

 Davis lays his head in Stiles lap and Stiles smiles. He’s got a textbook in one hand and a highlighter in another. He’s spread out in the living room and currently working on Biology. He has his final test of the year in one week, after that there’s three more and then he’s done. He won’t actually know if he’s officially graduated until a month later when he gets a letter in the mail about the ceremony, which he won’t be attending, he’ll be dead. It’s what he has planned, it’s what he’s going to do. What else does he have here? Sure there’s Davis but…

“Ugh!” Stiles says in frustration as he throws the textbook onto the coffee table. Davis tilts his head in confusion at his actions. “Sorry, buddy, I’m just so frustrated. Nothing is right. It’s all out of place.”

 Davis lays his head back onto Stiles lap as if to say, ‘it’s okay.’ Stiles reaches down and pets him gently in appreciation when suddenly his phone rings. Stiles picks it up off of the coffee table and sees Derek Hale on the caller ID. He wants to hit ignore but that tug, that flash of love overbears any impulse to do so.

“Hello?” Stiles says less than enthused.

“Stiles? It’s me, Derek. I need you to come to Deaton’s.” Derek tells him with a voice that sounds almost shaky. Stiles knows instantly that something is wrong, very wrong.

“I’ll be right there.”

><><><>< 

“Alright, what’s going on?” Stiles asks as his heart feels like it’s going to explode from anxiety. He rushed over to Deaton’s to find not only Derek and Deaton here, but Scott, Talia, and Laura. If he was nervous before he’s a mess now. Why are they all here? What’s going on? It must be about Peter, but why does he need to be here? Especially when most of them washed their hands of him.

“It’s about Peter, Stiles, and we need you to answer Dr. Deaton’s questions as accurately as possible.” Alpha Talia says with no room for argument, not that Stiles would try to argue with her now of all times.

“Okkaayy.” Stiles says slowly before turning to Deaton.

“Stiles, when you last saw Peter, was he able to shift?” Deaton asks calmly.

“Shift? Into wolfy form?”

 Derek smiles fondly as Scott rolls his eyes and Deaton continues with, “Yes, his wolf form.”

“Well, no, his face- he got angry because- it doesn’t matter but he was angry and he didn’t shift. His face got all snarly though, why, does that matter?”

 His question goes unanswered as understanding and fear dawns on Laura, Scott, and Derek’s face. Talia is more subtly about it, with years of public relations under her belt she can fool the best of them, but Stiles can feel her terror, and it is raw and uncompromising. They then turn their backs on him and start talking amongst themselves. It’s like he doesn’t even exist anymore, simply a means to an end. It brings back surmounts of past memories, past pain, and a situation he was too young to deal with. It all comes out in a blinding rage right then and there.

“ENOUGH!” He yells and everyone stops. Immediately he feels the urge to apologize, to Talia more than anyone. “I’m sorry, Alpha Hale, but I need to know what’s going on. If this is about Peter, if he’s in some kind of trouble… Let me help, please.”

“Why would you want to help him?” Scott asks with more curiosity than the animosity he’s been harbouring toward Stiles.

 Everyone looks to him, waiting for an answer. Finally Stiles gives it. “Because- He’s my friend. He’s pack.”

 The words, ‘he’s pack’ come out of nowhere, but it makes Talia still and Derek have a look of pride, of wonder. Talia speaks first. “Very well. I’m sorry to say this, but Peter has not been seen in almost three months. It’s possible he’s on another of his trips, but from what I’ve heard about your encounters with him and your training, it is more serious.”

 She’s looks at Deaton when she says training and Stiles immediately feels guilty, like he did something wrong. Maybe he should have asked or at the very least told Talia but she’s never been on his side about anything, and the rest of the pack save for Peter hasn’t spoken to him. Not that he knows many of them well, but it still hurts, and it is all the answer Stiles needs for his guilt to absolve, mostly.

“Okay, I mean, he didn’t seem in danger when I spoke to him.” Stiles tells them. “Is he in danger?”

 Nobody seems to want to answer that until Deaton steps forward. “Stiles, this going to be hard to hear, but Peter- the Peter you’ve seen, it’s not Peter.”

“What do you mean, it’s not Peter?”

“It is him but it’s his non-physical form you’ve been seeing.”

“I- I don’t understand.” Stiles takes a step back as confusion and the truth wrestle within. “He- He was here. We played chest and he even played with Davis.”

“Davis?” Scot perks up. “Allison’s dog? Stiles, he died a month ago.”

“No, it’s not- he’s not Allison’s, he’s mine. I- I found him. He was… “

“Stiles, Stiles, its okay.” Derek says stepping forward in a comforting voice. “Deaton explained it to me.”

“Well then explain it to me! Because I’m freaking out here! Am I some kind of dead dog whisperer that taps into wolves too?”

 Scott laughs. He tries to cover it up with a cough but Stiles sees right through it. His eyes narrow in at his once best friend and says, “Really?”

“Sorry, dude, but dead dog whisperer?”

 Stiles goes to argue but before he can, Talia’s voice rings loud and clear throughout the whole room. “Enough. We are wasting time.”

“Talia is right.” Deaton agrees. “Stiles you’re not- When you’re dad died you saw death. When Sparks experience that, unforeseen consequences can happen, but it’s not permanent.”

“Okay, okay, look we can discuss me later. What’s going on with Peter?” Stiles asks, putting aside his own bullshit to focus onto the one friend’s he’s had these past months. Nobody seems to want to answer this either though. “Well? What is it?”

><><><>< 

“This is insane.” Stiles says abruptly as the others fill the tub with ice.

“You don’t have to do this.” Derek reminds him, even though Talia and Laura are glaring at him for saying so.

“I kind of do.” Stiles says with a nod as he looks up at the wolf. “But I mean, if something does go wrong-”

“Nothing is going to go wrong. I’ll be right here.”

“As my anchor? Still sounds crazy. How come all the textbooks on human and wolf relations don’t mention crazy witches who want to annihilate packs with their evil magic?”

Laura smiles. “Stiles, it’s on page one hundred and eighty eight.”

“Really?” Stiles looks to her with surprise and genuine acceptance of that fact.

“No.” Laura laughs. “But it does mention the mystic, we just chose not to tell everyone everything. It would freak them out.”

“I think you give humans too little of credit for what they can handle.”

 The room suddenly turns serious and uncomfortable, but before it can become unbearable, Deaton steps in and says, “It’s time.”

><><><>< 

“I can do this.” Stiles says to himself as he sits down into the icy water.

“You can.” Talia asserts from beside him, and Stiles can practically feel the glare Derek is giving her over his head.

“You don’t have to.” Derek tells him sincerely.

“I do and I can. I’ll be fine.”

 Stiles sits down into the icy tub as Derek’s hands come onto his shoulders, getting ready to push him down. Stiles takes a few deep breaths and is about to say he’s ready when he pauses. Derek isn’t okay. He’s sort of freaking out, Stiles can feel the panic and worry. He wants to say something to help him calm down, to feel okay, but he’s never been good at words, then he remember when Derek was having that nightmare. His hand moves almost on its down at that last thought. It lands on one of Derek’s hands that’s on his shoulder. Derek is surprised Stiles can tell but when Stiles squeezes, Derek flips his hand to hold his and squeeze back.

“I’ll be fine.” Stiles tells Derek seriously.

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” Derek promises, vows to his mate.

“I’m ready.”

 Stiles removes his hand and takes it to the side of the tub. He grips harshly before letting go and allowing his body to plunge into the icy coldness. Derek’s hands help to push him down until he’s fully submerged. The ice water is like a million tiny needles all over his body, and he panics, but those warm hands holding him down, anchoring him helps to soothe and helps to let him go when he needs to.

 Suddenly everything becomes dark.

_“Peter?”_

><><><>< 

 Stiles gasps mouthfuls of water as warm hands pull him up from the depths of the ice bath he’s been laying in for no doubt longer than he probably should. He tries to breathe desperately as the warm body above him, as Derek pulls him out and another hands a towel over. Derek takes it and wraps it tightly around Stiles’ body as he shivers like he’s being shaken over and over. Derek goes to pull away, knowing Stiles aversion to touch, but Stiles feels all the more cold and alone. He lets out an involuntary whine and pulls Derek closer. His warm arms comply and wrap around him, bringing him close as they’re led to a leather couch.

“It’s okay, Stiles, I’m here.” Derek whispers soothingly, his lips at the crown of Stiles head as Stiles pushes ever so closer to the wolf. “I’m right here, sweetheart.”

 He doesn’t know how long he stays huddled up to the wolf but after some amount of time has passed a feminine voice he knows he should recognizes asks, “Where is he, Stiles? Where is Peter?”

 Stiles freezes, then instinctively pulls away and stands as the whole world comes into focus again. It’s no longer a blob of emotions everywhere, there’s people, and there’s things. He’s real. They’re real. He’s not in that _place_ anymore.

“Peter.” Stiles whispers as he paces around. “I- I need a map.”

 Derek goes to reach for Stiles as Laura scurries off to find one. Stiles flinches away, the earlier comfort being washed away by the realization that this is real. This is life. Derek looks hurt but before he can try to explain Laura is back with a map and the others in tow. Stiles quickly takes it from her and brings it to the countertop. He lays in out flat and finds it to be a map of Beacon Hills and its surrounding area. Stiles scans it as quickly as possible before placing a finger at a specific point.

“He’s here.” Stiles tells them looking up, his eyes only finding Derek’s. “He’s right here.”

><><><>< 

“How is he?” Stiles asks as he walks into the room and sees Peter, the real Peter laying on the Vet’s table. He’s pale, skinny, and unconscious.

“In a coma.” Surprisingly Scott answers. “It’s a good thing you didn’t come, she flung us around like we were nothing.”

“Right. So, Deaton, you can fix him, right?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Deaton answers honestly.

“What?” Laura’s head snaps up in panic. Talia’s hand reaches out and lands on her daughter’s shoulder giving it a comforting squeeze.

“I can’t, but you can Stiles.” Deaton tells him, making Derek stiffen beside him.

“No. It’s too dangerous for him.” Derek says immediately before Stiles can even question what he means.

“Wait.” Stiles says holding up his hands as he walks literally in the middle of everyone. He then looks to Deaton, “Why me?”

“You and Peter share a mystical connection. If anyone can bring him out of a mystical coma as safely as possible it is you. I will be right here to guide you.”

“No, no way.” Derek asserts again.

“Now, Derek, listen to him.” Talia says to her son.

 Before Derek can argue Stiles turns around to face him. “Hey, I’m nineteen, I can make my own decisions, and I want to help. I’ll do it.” Derek looks like he wants to argue, and that tug in his gut is almost violent but Stiles gives him a glare and he backs down. Stiles eyes then turns serious as he looks to Deaton. “What do I need to do?”

><><><>< 

“Are you feeling okay?” Derek asks with concern as Stiles leans his head against the cool window of the passenger door. They’re in Derek’s car and he’s driving him home. Stiles wanted to argue when he said he would, but honestly he’s tired. Exhausted is a better word. Everything that has happened has suddenly hit him with full force. The fact that he has a dead dog, Scott’s girlfriend’s dead dog, he was seeing some ghost or voice in his head that manifested into a physical form in his mind’s eye, or so that’s what Deaton was rambling about- whatever it means, and then he performed a ritual. He literally brought someone back from the brink of death.

 He feels numb and he feels like he’s floating but instead of telling Derek that he simply shrugs. He can feel Derek frowning at his response but he doesn’t have the energy to care. He’s floating but his limbs feel so heavy at the same time. Deaton said he would be feeling out of sorts for a couple of days and that he should make sure to eat and drink more frequently. Something about grounding him into this physical plane. Stiles head aches too much to even think further into what that means.

“Stiles…”

“I’m not going to graduate.” Stiles says suddenly, cutting whatever Derek was going to say off. His voice is panicked as he realizes that he’s going to break his promise, and that he might have to spend another year here.

“What do you mean?” Derek asks.

“I was- Fuck, I was supposed to go in for one of my final exams. I haven’t even studied- Shit. Derek I can’t not graduate.” His words are desperate as the realization hits.

“Calm down, Stiles, we’ll figure something out, okay? Don’t worry. You need to relax, you need to rest.”

 The car slows to a stop in front of Stiles’ house and as soon as they’re there Stiles feels the fight drain out of him as quickly as it came. He’s so goddamn tired. He opens the car door with difficulty and almost swoons like some girl from the nineteenth century, but Derek’s there in an instant, helping him to stand. His arm wraps around Stiles’ back as he guides him to the front door, it makes him want to scratch his skin off but he doesn’t have the energy to refuse or shake him off.

“Thanks.” Stiles whispers a few minutes later when they’ve made it up the stairs and into his room. Derek’s helped him to lay down on his bed, dirty clothes and all. He’s too tired to change, and he knows that tomorrow- whenever tomorrow is, he’s going to have to clean everything, but for right now he can manage.

“No problem.” Derek answers almost awkwardly as he looks around Stiles room nervously. “I guess I should go.”

 Stiles reaches out, grabbing Derek’s hand and stopping him. “No. Stay. I still feel so cold.”

 Derek nods and kneels down on the floor by Stiles’ bed. He sits, still holding Stiles hand in his. He knows that Stiles can’t handle more than this when it comes to touch, but even this is progress all in its own, and he feels content. Stiles can tell. It makes him smile sleepily and pull Derek’s hand closer until it’s resting against his chest.

“You’re warm.” Stiles whispers before the exhaustion takes over and he’s drifting ever so pleasantly. He’s almost in complete slumber when he mumbles one last thing, “Don’t leave me again. Everyone does.”

 Derek’s heart squeezes painfully.

><><><>< 

“You’re going to do great.” Derek tells Stiles with a smile as Stiles nervously fiddles with his study cards.

“Right. Yeah, I’ve got this.” Stiles says with a nod as he places the cards into the cup holder.

“Hey, look at me.” Stiles looks. “You are going to be great.”

“I know. I’m always great.”

 Derek laughs.

“But seriously, thank you, for helping me study and for getting me here.” Stiles tells him more seriously as his fingers very carefully touch Derek’s hand lightly. It lasts only a moment before Stiles has to pull away but even this small touch leaves tingles in all the right places in them both. Stiles licks his lips nervously and says, “I know we’ve been dancing around this but-”

“It’s okay, Stiles.” Derek tells him. “You don’t-”

“But I want to, I mean, I don’t… Why don’t we try something a little more human?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, like maybe, dating.” Stiles says with his eyes shifting downwards. The knife in his pocket digs into his side with force as if to say, ‘you need me,’ but then Derek is smiling and the knife is pushed to the back of his mind

“I think we could do that.” Derek says with happiness and a hint of a blush on his cheeks.

“Okay, I should go.”

“I’ll see you in an hour.”

><><><>< 

_Stiles wakes with a start, the hand clasped in his moves slowly. He looks up and finds Derek’s sleepy brown eyes staring back at him. They turn to confusion and concern as he asks, “What’s wrong?”_

_Tears form in Stiles’ eyes. “Derek?”_

_“What is it?”_

_“My dad’s dead.”_

_The tears fall and a sob soon follows. Derek is quick to pull him close. Stiles allows the contact as Derek’s other hand lands in his hair. His fingers run soothingly through his hair as Stiles breathes into the safety and comfort of Derek._

_“Shh…” Derek whispers. “I’m right here, sweetheart, and I know that it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it will get easier.”_

_“My- my- dad.” Stiles says through sobs as his hands grip Derek’s shirt._

_“I know, baby, I know.”_

_“Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me.”_

_“I’m not going anywhere.” Derek vows, now on the verge of tears himself. “I won’t leave you. I promise.”_

_“Please don’t leave me. Please.”_

_“Shh, I’m here, Sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere, Stiles, I’m not. I’m right here, baby. Right here.”_

><><><>< 

“So, how did it go?” Derek asks with a smile that Stiles can’t help but match.

“Great. It went great.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“Me too.”

“STILES!” A voice yells from across the school parking lot, making both Derek and Stiles turn to it in confusion. What they both see is a young guy, about Stiles age with brown hair, brown eyes, and an overall handsome face. Derek can sense right away that he’s a wolf.

“Do you know him?” Derek asks Stiles as he looks down at his mate who’s staring at the young man with shock and wonderment. “Stiles?”

 Stiles looks away finally and to Derek. “Yeah?”

“Do you know him?”

“Yeah…”

“Who is he?” Derek asks, his impatience getting the better of him as pricks of jealousy start to emerge. Stiles has never looked at him like that.

“Theo.” Stiles answers simply like it explains everything.

“Theo who?”

“Theo Raeken… An old friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> I recently started doing Writing Commissions, so if you enjoy my writing please do check out my post if you're inserted in something like that. You can find it here - https://ll-22-63.tumblr.com/post/184908350585/writing-commissions  
> I hope you enjoyed this Part 3, it was challenging in its own right for me to write it but I loved writing it. I could easily leave it here, but I did leave it open for a fourth part. I'll be completely honest though, I'm not sure if I will write another, but if I do it may be awhile. Comments always help though and I do read them. Probably more than I should.   
> Thank you for reading. :)


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